


Practice

by puddingontheritz



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Duke AU, F/F, Fantasy, M/M, Royalty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingontheritz/pseuds/puddingontheritz
Summary: “The pursuit of happiness is a bourgeois affectation, like foxing. We want the thrill of taking something that we know shouldn’t belong to us.”
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill, Jenna Stoeber/Karen Han
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45
Collections: Polygolidays Gift Exchange 2019!





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppyseedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyseedheart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by Anonymous. Log in to view. 



> This is so very silly. Thank you for indulging me.
> 
> For Nic, who deserves all the femslash her little heart desires! (Sorry it's not more hornt) 
> 
> I wrote about 2,000 more words in this fic that got cut for time, maybe I'll tidy them up at some point to tie a bow on this goof ass universe?
> 
> Big ups to fish for writing the OG Duke AU; this is a spiritual grandchild to triumvir, despite bearing no resemblance.

I.

Duchess de Rochefort had a reputation during the war, and deserved it, for being hard and grim as flint. Now that peace is restored, she is keen to remind everyone that she was once best known for her extravagant parties, and the court needs to remember parties.

“Just a few friends. You know I prefer a small, intimate gathering,” she’d said, but Jenna has a grim premonition. The great house feels empty and drafty with too few guests, for one thing; for another, this will be most courtiers’ first opportunity to be out in society, to see and be seen, since the end of the war, and the king is ailing; frankly, no one can afford to miss it.

Eventually, the intimate social gathering becomes a ball, and the ball becomes a night of feasting and revelry to celebrate His Majesty’s ninety-second birthday. Jenna, as Duchess de Rochefort’s right-hand woman and the highest-ranking member of her household, will be expected to assist with hosting the festival and making their guests welcome. It seems to her rather a sad waste of their impoverished stores, with winter on the horizon and the war only just behind them. Even still, she can’t help but feel a thrill of childish excitement at the thought of wearing the surcoat of a Contessa for the first time _—_ tempered, of course, with dread at the thought of who will be in attendance at the festival.

The first guests start arriving at around three o’clock in the afternoon, the carriages kicking up plumes of dust that follow Jenna into the airy halls of the house and crawl down her lungs, making her lightheaded and short of breath. She heads off toward the kitchen, hoping that Cook has something that will settle her cough before the evening’s festivities. As she’s cutting through the east drawing room, however, she finds a party of guests already there, sitting down to cards. Brian David, Lord Gilbert; a grave, richly-dressed man she doesn’t recognize; and Lord Brennan, Duke of Mulligan and Chancellor of the College of Humours. Her stomach tightens unpleasantly.

Brennan is the first to rise, throwing his arms wide in hearty welcome. “Contessa, as I live and breathe! You have become a war hero since I’ve seen you last!”

Jenna lets him kiss her hand, bowing low, before returning the gesture with her own, more measured bow. “My lord Brennan, this is inflated praise indeed.”

“My good Contessa is too humble! Please, join us _—_ let’s see, Gilbert you know, of course; and my guest, Mr. Ashley, from Astoria _—_ ”

The grave man makes a slight bow and murmurs what might be _good evening_ into his beard.

Presently, there is a rustling of skirts at the door; Brennan grins wide. “Ah, and you know my lovely intended, I believe?”

Jenna doesn’t need to look to know it’s Karen, but she looks anyway. She’s beautiful, in festive pink and yellow silk. You wouldn’t know any time had passed by looking at her, nothing but some slight thinness of the mouth and tightness in her cheeks betraying the strain of the last six years.

Into the stunned silence (for Karen is still frozen in the doorway), Jenna says, “A pleasure to see you again, Majesty,” bowing formally.

At last, Karen smoothes away her struck expression. “Yes _—_ yes of course _—_ lovely to see you, Captain,” she manages, and curtsies.

“Contessa, now, actually,” Jenna mutters, blushing furiously. She’s not yet dressed for dinner in the colours and crest _—_ not used to needing to obey the strict niceties of court outside of formal functions _—_ but she can’t afford to have Brennan see her addressed below her rank, not with everything so precarious.

“Of course, yes, I heard. My heartfelt congratulations.” Karen’s blushes with mortification, looking expressively into Jenna’s eyes. Brennan bounces on the balls of his feet and continues to beam as if the proceedings couldn’t possibly bring him more joy. “Since we’re all acquainted, you must certainly join us at cards.”

“Oh _—_ well _—_ we shouldn’t impose _—_ ” Karen begins, as Jenna begins, “I was just leaving,” giving way to another awkward silence. 

“Nonsense! There is no imposition among such friends as these,” Brennan says, fluttering a heavily-jewelled hand. Karen is radiating discomfort. Of course, Brennan would have set up this opportunity to unsettle his fiancée before the ball, take the measure of her fortitude and composure during a public, politically sensitive night. The grave Mr. Ashley looks curiously from one face to the next. Little power though she may have in these matters, Jenna thinks, she at least won’t be toyed with.

“I fear I must decline at present,” she says over Brennan’s protestations, rising. “I have some pressing business to attend to in my rooms before the ball. Please excuse me.” She bows perfunctorily before walking quickly out of the room. As soon as she turns onto the hallway off the parlour, she lets herself slump against the wall while her breathing catches up with her heart rate.

II.

_"The Saffitz threat growing with each passing day, and now civil unrest in the Northern provinces, and my lady sends me to the Hannish court to babysit the Hannish brat, of all things.”_

_Jenna, Brennan and Brian are at cards in Brian’s guest parlour. whatever else you might say about his company, you cannot argue with his knack for comfort, Jenna thinks as she nestles deeper into the plush armchair next to the fire and pulls on a pint of fine Rochefort cider. She tries to memorize the comforts of home, given that in a week’s time she’ll be at attention every hour of the day as part of Princess Karen’s retinue._

_“Between you and me, she badly needs some discipline,” Brennan drawls, clearly intending the suggestion that makes Jenna’s jaw twitch. The entire court knows exactly how the Duke likes to_ discipline _his retinue. She sighs, enjoying having an audience for her self-pity._

_“This is a demotion, mark me.”_

_“It’s not,” Brian says quietly, eyes on his cards. Jenna looks up in surprise. Brian isn’t one to contradict so directly. “You’re well acquainted with the princess, then?” she asks._

_“Not directly, no. But I’ve been often to the Hannish court in recent years, working out a trade deal on grain. I’ve watched her grow up. I think you’ll find her company quite stimulating.”_

_Brennan snorts, but Brian presses on doggedly. “She may be a touch wild, but she’s a brilliant political mind, given a few years. Even if I wasn’t a loyalist to the core—” he hunches awkwardly in an attempt at a seated half-bow, making it Jenna’s turn snort—“I’d think twice before turning my back on a one such as her.” He looks at Jenna earnestly. “And she’s bored, and she could use a friend, I think.”_

_“Yes, the Captain sending me out as a friend-for-hire to a bored princess speaks volumes of her faith in me,” Jenna sighs, looking at her cards with disgust and folding._

***

_By the time she arrives at Castle Han, Jenna is ill-tempered. The journey was long and uncomfortable, as the preceding week of rain had rendered the roads from Rochefort Manor an illegible sea of mud, and without company she has had nothing but time to stew over the prospect of spending the next year at least in exile as a lady-in-waiting. As such, her first meeting with Princess Karen is badly timed for success._

_The head of the household, Thomas, is waiting to greet her in the main entrance hall, along with a young woman Jenna has to guess from her rich attire is the Princess. They exchange bows and pleasantries about the journey, and then Thomas gestures to the girl and says, “I am sure you’re tired from your journey, but the King is anxious that you be introduced to Mistress Karen this evening, as he’s hoping that you might begin combat training tomorrow.”_

_So soon? He must be worried indeed. “Of course, if the King wishes it,” Jenna says, bowing gravely. With that, Thomas excuses himself so that the ladies might become better acquainted._

_Left alone, the Princess smiles evenly at Jenna, taking the measure of her new companion. Jenna, who has had nine hours on the road to compose in her mind how she will greet her new mistress, bypasses the small talk she knows she should make but doesn’t have the energy for._

_“Hear me, Majesty. For as long as I am responsible for your safety, you will be working hard. We will train in combat daily, so that you can also keep yourself safe. I am first and foremost Captain of the Rochefort Guard, and I won’t play lady-in-waiting to an idle princess.”_

_“I’m pleased to hear it,” Karen replies, sounding amused._

_“But know this: as long as you are under my protection, I will do anything and everything in my power to keep you safe; on that you have my word.”_

_“Anything?” Karen asks. “Would you...eat a bug?”_

_Jenna frowns. “Would I eat a bug?”_

_“Yes. Because it would keep me safe somehow. Would you eat a live rat?”_

_“How would this keep you safe,” Jenna asks through gritted teeth._

_“I don’t know, just hypothetically. Would you do it?”_

_“I...yes, I’d eat a bug to keep you safe. Now—”_

_“And the live rat?”_

_“Are you just looking for the maximum size of hypothetical creature I’d eat to keep you safe?”_

_“What about a small cat?”_

_“Goodnight, Majesty.” Jenna turns to go, but is stopped by Karen’s hand on her arm. She laughs, a pleasant sound. “Wait, Captain_ _Stoeber, please. I was just having a little fun. The formality of palace manners have never suited me—you may have heard. I know I have a reputation at court. And I know this posting must be irksome to you—warden to a naughty princess, a soldier with your pedigree, it’s madness—and to speak truth, I have many handlers and guards and staff in my employ, and I was rather hoping we might instead be friends, near equals as we are.”_

_Karen is smiling openly, and Lord Brian's pleading look flashes unbidden in Jenna’s mind. She can see why this wry, appealing creature would speak to the dukeling's soft heart. She squares off and faces her charge, careful to keep her expression neutral._

_“Your Majesty may be excused for youthful ignorance. With unrest in the kingdom, and as His Majesty’s sole heir to the throne, you are singularly vulnerable to attempts at assassination, kidnap, or manipulation by spies and your father’s enemies within the court. The King is concerned enough that he has sought additional security from his allies to help keep you safe—security with, as you say, my pedigree—and he has sacrificed much to do so.”_

_Karen’s hand has dropped back to her side, and Jenna is pleased to see that her soft, glowing features have hardened ever so slightly._

_“If Your Majesty will pardon my bluntness, you don’t need a friend, you need protection, and if you don’t understand that then you are in more danger than I feared. Moreover, I will not have my time wasted, not when war could descend at any moment and render time very short indeed.” Karen’s jaw is tight with anger, disguising the baby fat in her cheeks that renders her so appealing usually, and her sweet cupid’s bow mouth is a thin line. She will indeed be an imposing Queen, Jenna thinks with satisfaction—if she lives to see the day._

_Before Karen can compose a retort, Jenna bows deeply. “I will see you at the arching range_ _tomorrow at dawn. Good evening, Majesty.” She turns on her heel and is gone._

III. _  
_

At dinner, Jenna is naturally seated at Simone’s right hand. On her other side is Lord Patrick, who leans in as soon as Simone has concluded the welcome blessing and invited everyone to eat. 

“I’m not one to indulge idle rumour,” he murmurs, “but my sources tell me we’ll soon be celebrating a royal wedding.”

Jenna glances down the table to where Brennan is whispering something into Karen’s ear, his mouth grazing the fine hairs at the top of her neck. “What do you know about his dowry?” 

Patrick snorts. “Not a credit under ten thousand a year, I’ve heard, but we’ll see if it goes through. That poisonous little pastry of a man is watching to see if she blinks, mark me.”

Jenna’s eyes go wide. “Really? You think he would risk the throne?”

“You know I’m not one to gossip,” he says, wiping his mouth delicately with a corner of tablecloth. “But by my reckoning, Brennan can scarce afford such a bridehead. His household’s greatly diminished since the war. And it costs credit to host nightly parties more craven and depraved than Simone’s nether regions, and even more credit to keep them discreet.”

Simone, who has been talking with Mr. Clayton on her other side, reaches over to take Patrick’s goblet of wine, pouring its contents into her own glass. “Patrick, my sweet, it is very rude to speak ill of the host while at table.”

His smile a wolfy, tooth-forward smile. “My dear lady, you must give confirmed bachelors like us leave to observe such social dances with some vinegar. We have so little else to do.” 

Once Simone’s gone back to her conversation with Mr. Ashley and Patrick’s stolen Jenna’s still-untouched glass of wine, Jenna leans in even closer on the pretence of reaching for a dish to Patrick’s left. “You think he’s bluffing?” she whispers.

“I think it’s absolute power Brennan wants, and he wouldn’t bargain away his current status in the court for anything less. Why marry into the throne if he can get it an easier way way?”

At the other end of the table, Brennan laughs uproariously at something, a jovial whinny that rattles in Jenna’s ears like coins on a tin plate. 

***

After the dinner has concluded, servants appear to sweep the table and dishes away and the musicians begin tuning their instruments. Not long after they’ve begun, Brian coaxes Patrick onto the dance floor, and soon after Karen sweeps over to take his seat. 

“So, you saw reason, in the end,” Jenna says as Karen sweeps her train neatly beneath her feet. 

“It’s not official yet _—_ we’ll still need the blessing of the King, and dispensation from the Archbishop, but we’ve come to an understanding, yes,” Karen responds evenly. “When I was appointed ambassador to his court, we found ourselves with ample time to get to know each other.”

Jenna watches the dancers spin; Brian and Patrick have emboldened a few other brave souls to make their way to the floor, and a lively quadrille is dragging more people out by the minute. “He’s not all bad,” she ventures, under the cover of the boisterous tune struck by the band. “Perhaps you will grow to love him, in time.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Karen assents. “Love is a funny thing, among our kind.” She smiles at the dancing couples. Brian is throwing himself blithely into the quadrille, lithe and pliant as butter. Patrick’s movements are less delicate, almost military--more like fencing than dancing; but he gamely twists and claps and weaves in and out of the line and tucks his sharp elbows in as best he can, throwing his head back and laughing when he gets it wrong. Brian, for his part, is burning with a rosy light that the exertion of the dance can’t entirely account for.

IV.

_Training with the Princess is not as onerous as Jenna was expecting. Karen, Jenna finds, is a passable rider, not much of a swordswoman, an excellent runner and an appalling markswoman. She improves quickly, though, with proper instruction._

_Yet Jenna finds her frustrating, not because she isn’t capable, or because she’s insolent or spoiled or intentionally difficult, as Jenna was dreading. She is, in fact, meticulously and carefully respectful; she listens to correction; she is quiet more often than not. Sometimes, however, her eyes will simply slide into another mode, as if the practice grounds and Jenna and everything else around her were suddenly a dream, without substance or form._

_It’s June when Karen runs away again._

_The first sign of trouble is that Karen isn’t waiting when Jenna arrives at the archery range one morning. She’s made a point of being there waiting for Jenna, raising her eyebrows archly and wishing her a crisp_ good morning, Captain _._

_Jenna makes some inquiries of the door guard from that morning, who scratch their heads and say the only traffic through the palace gates was a caravan of artisan weavers hoping to trade with the court in silk and brocade._

_It’s around 10 o’clock when panic finally starts rising in Jenna’s throat, but she hesitates to worry the King until she’s absolutely sure there’s something to worry about. In desperation, she saddles up her favourite mare and rides out alone, forcing Edelgard to a gallop most of the way. The sun is high when she sees what she’s been looking for: the cloud of dust that signals a trade caravan making its way slowly down the road._

_She overtakes the caravan and hails the headwoman, who gives out the call for the band to stop. After a hurried conversation, the head calls over her second in command, who calls over his partner, who frowns and leans on the side of the caravan, looking thoughtful. At this point a young apprentice sidles up, dodges a cuff around the head for listening in, and tells Jenna that a security officer named Frank_ _loaded a trunk into his coach that morning as they were packing up to go. The apprentice knew that trunk hadn’t been full before, and when he asked why they were taking cargo on a sale stop at the palace Frank told him it was cargo that would pay for itself a hundred times over, and to mind his own and not ask so many questions if he knew what was good for him._

_The headwoman and the second in command look at each other, then set off at a run, Jenna hot on their heels. They stop at the third wagon from the back, ripping open the doors and pulling the driver, a ruddy man of about 40, from the driver’s seat._

_Jenna runs immediately to the back, finds a massive chest with a key in the lock and opens it. Inside are lengths of rich material, folded in haste. Jenna plunges both hands into the material, digging down until she finds something warm and hard, throws material to either side with abandon, breathing hard—_

_And there, folded into the trunk like a festival ham, is Karen. Her eyes snap open when the lid lifts, and she looks around rapidly._

_The ride home seems to last forever, perhaps because Edelgard is exhausted from their hard ride that morning and consequently they take a much easier pace back, Karen riding behind Jenna with hands around her waist. To pass the time and to distract from the portentous silence of her companion, Karen tries to steady her breathing to time her heartbeats so that they sync up with Edelgard’s hoofbeats._

_***_

_When they finally arrive home, the sun is on its way down. Jenna leaps down, leaving Karen to swing herself from Edelgard’s back. Jenna stands with her back to Karen, winded from the ride and gasping for air for a good while - so long, in fact, that for a moment Karen is afraid she’s genuinely suffering. She knows Jenna suffers from asthma, but surely this ride was no wilder than any of her other excursions, Karen thinks, worrying the palms of her hands with her nails._

_On turning around, it’s clear that Jenna is fine, and also very, very angry._

_“He was going to sell you out,” she says, walking towards Karen, “you stupid, stupid girl.”_

_Karen flinches as if Jenna had slapped her, but she says nothing._

_“I’m not your governess, Majesty. And you are not a child,” Jenna continues, clearly working hard to manage her tone and her breath. Her cheeks are aflame with exertion and emotion, and her eyes are hard and bright. Karen is surprised to find that she likes what it does to her features; she looks like a buck in the moment before a kill, or one of the tall orange thistles that grows between the flagstones in the east courtyard and torments Gardener._

_“You may not have noticed, but we are on the brink of war,” Jenna continues. “If you take such a gambit again and are captured by enemies of the kingdom, the best case scenario is you are placed under house arrest in some mercenary’s mansion and returned safely home for a princely ransom your father can scarce afford. The worst case scenario is you are handed to our enemies in Saffitz. For failing in my duties, I will certainly be tortured, probably executed, and all of your subjects’ lives will be at stake as you push us closer to war.”_

_Jenna takes a few steps closer as she speaks, and Karen plants her feet and unlocks her knees, resisting the urge to give ground. She takes deep, even breaths and unballs her fists._

_“If you’re foolish enough to jeopardize everything your father has worked for, you will do so on your own time.”_

_She turns to go, but Karen refuses to let her have the last word._

_“It doesn’t matter what I do. The rebels don’t fear my father. Even some courtiers' loyalty is waning. Even if I’m a perfect little princess and I never leave the palace again as long as I live, what do you think will happen to me if the next assassination attempt should succeed?”_

_Something crosses Jenna's face that’s unreadable, and then it’s gone. “What I think is of no importance. Good afternoon, Mistress.” Jenna bows jerkily and begins to stride off across the lawn towards the stables._

_“Please don’t tell my father about this,” Karen yells at Jenna’s retreating back, then immediately curses herself for allowing something so childish to escape her lips, especially since she knows Jenna wasn’t going to tell a soul anyway. Say what you will about her, Karen thinks, sighing and gathering her skirts to head back to the house, Jenna keeps herself to herself._

_***_

_The next day, Karen is waiting down at the archery range as usual, sitting on a fencepost. She hops down at Jenna’s approach._

_“I’m sorry,” she says simply. “I felt I had no choice. I have asked for a leave, an ambassadorial appointment, anything. I would happily clean the pisspots of the most boring, odious lords and ladies’ least favourite pets for no credits just to see unfamiliar faces for a little while. Not forever! I will go quietly and be queen when my time comes, and I will be a diligent student of policy and rule as wisely as I can.”_

_She sighs and meets Jenna’s gaze, looking defeated._

_Jenna thinks for a moment, runs a hand through her hair. “If I ask your father to consider an ambassadorial assignment, will that put an end to all this nonsense?”_

_Karen's face smoothes in relief. "I would appreciate your intercession on my behalf.”_

_They shake, and inwardly Jenna resolves to start teaching Karen statecraft and court etiquette as well as martial art, because she’s not wrong—there are dangers within the castle walls as without._

***

_The next year, the year that Karen turns twenty, something changes in her. Although some precious part of her heart still harbours a plan to run away, to fake her death, to chew her leg off to escape her gilded prison, she has almost unconsciously started planning for other futures as well. She knows they cannot escape war now. War is coming. But there will still be a kingdom after that, and someone will need to rule...whatever’s left to rule._

_It’s time she readied herself for the throne in earnest._

_And, while she hasn’t put it in as many words to herself yet, some part of her is also readying herself for marriage. There are more desirable routes to peace, of course, but Karen knows that marriage is her quickest path to stabilizing the kingdom. If she had her druthers, she’d make a match with the Duchess de Rochefort; however, any fool can see that if the power of the Hannish Court is to be restored, it will be imperative to break the Triumvirate of Dukes._

_Sir Brennan is obviously out of the question, much as her father might wish it; he would be a powerful ally, to be sure, but he is ambitious, and far too cunning to let a royal partner dilute his current influence in the court. And then of course, there are stories about what goes on at his College of Humours, and of his dark proclivities behind closed doors...Karen shivers, not unpleasantly. Yes, well. Hardly an appropriate line of thought for a lady of high rank._

_Sir Patrick Gill is their nearest neighbour, and the most likely match on paper. They’ve been part of the same dances and hunting parties and so on since Karen was a girl. He’s well-liked below stairs and roundly disliked by the court at large, and though generally dour and moody, Karen’s always rather enjoyed his company. Then again, the rumours around him and the Dauphin make Karen doubt he’ll bring himself to wed as long as the Dauphin is free (no matter that Gill can scarce afford the dowry for so high a match), and in any case his radical politics would make him a risky choice of ally._

_Then of course there is Lord Gilbert, a frail waif of a boy-duke who looks about as resilient as a portrait of himself but whose charm, policy of appeasement, and well-stocked coffers appeal greatly to her father. He’s rather handsome, and some of her ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting have reported him to be a capable lover, but she’s also heard that beneath his soft and rather vapid exterior lies a cunning politician and a shrewd negotiator. Karen flags him for later examination._

_***_

_Jenna can’t help but notice the difference in her mistress as the months go by. She throws herself into combat training with a single-minded focus Jenna had not looked for in so sheltered and privileged a pupil. They run drills every morning and from after dinner until sunset six days a week, only dropping Sundays so that Karen can sit on petty court. After some of the ladies in her retinue start adopting Her Highness’ affectation of wearing lace gloves everywhere, Jenna realizes that Karen’s been hiding angry blisters on her hands and wrists, chafing from the constant practice with bow and sword._

_They’re sparring in the palace courtyard one warm spring day when Lord Gilbert and Lord Brennan pass by with some of their retinue. Karen gets off the final point, executing a showy feint and scoring right over Jenna’s heart. “Good, very good,” Jenna says approvingly, catching her breath as they both bow. “I think that’s enough for this morning.”_

_Karen takes off her helmet and pushes back her sweaty hair to see the gentlemen watching admiringly from the sideline._

_“Bravo,” Lord Brian calls, flashing his perfect teeth and applauding lightly._

_“Magnificent form, mistress,” Brennan grins, twisting the words around his tongue with unnecessary relish._

_“Magnificent indeed,” Brian agrees. “We must arrange to spar sometime.”_

_“If you think you have the stamina, I’d be happy to give you a generous handicap,” Karen retorts lightly._

_“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have any complaints on that front,” he returns, making precise eye contact that manages to close the distance between them with no trouble._

_Karen bows in some confusion and walks on towards the dressing room._

_“Lord Brian certainly seems to admire you," Jenna remarks as they are peeling off layers of sweaty armour. "_ _Do you know, he spoke highly of you to me before I joined your retinue.”_

_“Did he,” Karen responds with what she hopes is a queenly detachment._

_“He may yet be a useful ally. He seems to have matured some in the past year.”_

_Karen snorts, continuing to strip off her armour. “Are you sure it’s not just the moustache?”_

_Karen smiles, then continues in the same casual tone, “Have you considered an alliance by marriage?”_

_“To Lord Brian?” Karen asks, colouring. Their conversation has never ventured into such intimate territory before._

_“To Duke Brennan,” Jenna replies, busying herself with removing her knee pads._

_Karen studies Jenna's face. “Surely you’re joking,” she says._

_Jenna places her folded plastron carefully on a bench and finally looks into Jenna’s face. “I am not.”_

_“But...” Karen casts for any of the myriad reasons the suggestion discomfits her, reeling in the easiest one. “But what makes you think he would agree to the union?”_

_“Because he likes you—”_

_“And what of any number of courtiers now buried in the church graveyard whom Brennan’s liked in the past decade?” Karen scoffs._

_“_ And _,” Jenna presses on, “he’s afraid of you, and I think he’d rather have you close and rule at your side than have you for an enemy.”_

_Karen opens her mouth to reply, finds she has nothing to say, closes it. Jenna’s words make her thrill a bit, deep in her stomach, for reasons she doesn’t care to probe. “Really?”_

_Jenna rolls her eyes. “Don’t ask me to butter you up; you’re not a child. Yes, the Duke fears you. He knows you’re already ten times the leader your father is, may he rule forever.” Her tone is bland, but she’s smirking, and Karen can’t stop herself from glowing just a little under the praise._

V.

The revelry is waning when Jenna finally steals a moment alone, taking in the night air on the uncovered balcony off of the main hall. It's refreshing after the heat and stink of two hundred bodies in heavy formal dress, dancing and sweating out rich food and fine wine. It’s a fine thing to feel cool wind touch her face and to rest her voice, which has been so active in making Simone’s guests welcome that it now almost sounds like a stranger to her ears. 

She hears light footsteps behind her, recognizable for how little sound they make. Then Karen is at her side, looking ghostly in the greyscale light of dusk.

“Does my engagement not please you? Would you not see me rule Han, and return us to our former prosperity?” Her tone is mercilessly light, her face inscrutable in the thin moonlight. 

It’s as if the past six years were a span of a few hours, and they’re simply resuming a conversation they were having in another room. Jenna knows she should respond _—_ Karen is waiting for her to respond _—_ and a match with Brennan was her idea, after all. But this level of candour feels dangerous, now that Karen’s essentially Regent. Then again, Jenna is titled in her own right too, she remembers, and is no longer in the King’s pay; she can speak as freely as she likes. Her heart beats a little faster at the realization.

“I would see you happy,” she finally says. “You are royalty, by training and inclination, and yet in my experience royal lives are long and thwarted or short and brutal. I wish neither for you. You deserve happiness.”

Karen sighs, a mighty world-weary sigh that makes her heavy bone-lined corset creak. “Happiness is a mirage for those of us with power, I think. Or at the very least it’s fickle. I think I’ve always expected to trade the likeliness of happiness for the power of my office. The pursuit of happiness is a bourgeois affectation, like foxing. We want the thrill of taking something that we know shouldn’t belong to us.”

Jenna grins. “Have you been speaking with Sir Patrick?”

“Sir Brian, actually. You were right, there’s greater depth and liberality to his views than I had guessed.” Jenna can feel Karen’s eyes on her. “You were right about many things.”

Not right about enough, Jenna thinks. She’s been turning over Sir Patrick’s words at dinner. If he’s right _—_ if she pushed Karen into a marriage to a desperate, dangerous man _—_ if Brennan’s hunger for power outruns his desire for the throne _—_

“I can hear you thinking,” Karen says, smiling. Jenna looks at her desperately. This might be her only chance to...what, warn her? Convince Karen to break off the engagement? For her safety, or for another reason?

As if reading her mind, Karen says in a low voice, “I do not fear Brennan. I can endure anything, as long as I need never be separated from you for so long again.”

Karen covers Jenna’s hand on the railing, a touch so shocking and so welcome Jenna's head spins with it. 

“Come to my chambers in an hour,” Karen whispers, barely moving her lips. 

“Are you mad?” Jenna hisses. “Your fiancé could enter at any moment.”

“He won’t,” she breathes, her lips brushing against Jenna’s cheek. Anyone could be looking out the window. “He’s already retired to his rooms with four or five of his favourites and won’t emerge for some time. I made sure of it.” Karen’s hands are ice cold as they trace light patterns on Jenna’s forearm. Jenna holds her breath, afraid to break the spell. Her fingers itch with longing. It’s a sign of how long it’s been since she had anything to hope for in this way, she thinks, that she’s already feeling warm pulses of desire between her legs when Karen whispers soft against her ear:

“Make me happy for one evening.”

VI.

_On the first of September, Han Palace hosts a feast to celebrate the tasting of the new wine and the shearing of the sheep. Normally, the festivities would wait for the King’s birthday in three weeks, but since the action with Saffitz ships in the North Sea on Tuesday, everyone is anxious to have something to celebrate—to bask in one final ray of normalcy before the chaos of war blots out everything else._

_In the hour before guests are to be welcomed to the palace lawn, Karen is supervising the team of servants decanting wine and arranging centrepieces of trailing grapevines when Jenna slips up to her side. “I notice you’re wearing the Han mantel,” she says. "Is your father unwell again?” Recently, the king’s health has meant that Karen has presided over more and more of the ceremonial functions of the royal family._

_“He’s made me an ambassador to the Brennish Court,” Karen says without meeting Jenna’s eyes. “And he wants me to get as much practice as possible overseeing the functions of Queen Regent before I leave, in case...well, in case.”_

_So in a month’s time, Karen will be installed in Sir Brennan’s court. For how long? Will Jenna go with her? What is the King’s intention on this front? Perhaps it’s for the best if Jenna doesn’t follow Karen to Brennan; her constant presence at Karen’s side would certainly discourage any gestures towards a courtship. It can’t possibly be a secret how she feels about Karen. All the same, she doesn’t love the idea of abandoning Karen to the clutches of such a man. She puts these thoughts to one side for a moment. One thing at a time. “He’s quite right,” she says crisply. “In these times it’s wise to be prepared for any eventuality.”_

_Karen gives the blessing and the feast begins without incident. As the second course is being served, a messenger appears at Karen’s side, whispering in her ear and depositing a letter into her hands. Curious heads all down the table turn as Karen breaks the wax and quickly scans the letter, turning pale._

_The orange seal of Saffitz shakes briefly in Karen’s hand before Jenna quietly takes the letter from her and tucks it into her breast pocket. Already the timbre of conversation along the head table is becoming a low, tense hum of whispers that jumps from table to table._

_That night, Karen will appear in the King's place before her subjects to announce that Han is officially at war._

_***_

_The next week dissolves in a blur of activity. By the morning of Jenna’s departure, her quarters in the east wing of Han Palace are packed up for her return, and she’s traded in the wardrobe of the Hannish court for the bright green mantle of the Captain of the Rochefort Guard._

_Jenna and Karen meet on the front steps to say their goodbyes._

_“You’re sure you remember how to command an army?” Karen asks as they look out at the flurry of servants loading trunks into the coach. “Your brush with castle life hasn’t made you too soft and pampered for war?”_

_“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jenna returns, smiling. “Battalions of soldiers will be child’s play after you. And I’m hardly commanding an army.”_

_“But you will be soon.” Karen sounds so sincere, so warmly confident, that Jenna finds she can’t joke about it._

_“Your faith in me is touching.”_

_“It’s not faith; it’s fact,” Karen says. “Why else have you been summoned back to Rochefort Manor? Duchess De Rochefort knows that the war is lost without you._

_“And what of me?” she continues. “How will I know what to do?”_

_Jenna looks hard at Karen; she strongly suspects the latter is holding back tears. “You will learn. With patience, and practice, as with anything else,” Jenna says, tucking a strand of displaced hair behind Karen’s ear. “Find your resolve. Be safe.” Karen catches her hand, briefly presses her lips to Jenna’s knuckles, and then turns around and is gone up the steps and through the doors._

_Th carriage departs twenty minutes later, crossing countryside now lovely and blooming that Jenna had once travelled through under very different conditions, but virtually unseeing both ways._

_She passes the time until the midday rest by thinking through all the other, better parting words she might have said instead._


End file.
